


breathe me

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Boys Kissing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad Sirius Black, sad boys kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: After Sirius Black leaves Grimmauld Place to stay with the Potters, he finds comfort in Remus Lupin, if only for a minute.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for anxiety, panic attacks, and intrusive thoughts, as well as references to drowning and implied/referenced abuse.
> 
> Enjoy! Comments and feedback always welcome!

It's not the first time that Sirius Black has woken with a start, gasping for breath, white knuckles twisted in James Potters' sheets, dark, unforgiving eyes leering down at him from behind closed eyelids. He can still feel the _burn_ of where wand met skin, can imagine the _sting_ of where flesh collided with flesh, each strike absolving the _blood-traitor_ of defiance. He sees, unflinching, _her_ blasting his name from the family tree as he flees, escapes, _runs_.

To James. To the Potters.

But even the safety of the Potter household cannot free him from the images dancing about the edges of his mind, whispering and vicious - a constant reminder of his _disgrace_. It's enough to make him go mad, and as he sits, blood-shot eyes squeezed shut ( _maybe it will make it go away_ ), he thinks he very well may be. Palms come up to press against heavy eyelids as his breathing begins to slow. But there is still a tight, constricting _something_  lodged in the center of his chest; no matter how many breaths he takes or how long he keeps his vision remains black, shielded behind hands like a small child, it remains.

Pale, bare legs swing out from beneath the sheet, and Sirius pauses once his feet press flat against the cool floor. He glances over at his bed-mate, but James is still curled on his side, snoring, hair sticking up at odd angles. He doesn't want to wake him - he'd already done that more than enough since he'd arrived - so he stands and quietly pads out of the room and down the hall, allowing his body to carry him wherever it seeks solace. He pushes open the guest room door, standing the doorway for a moment. His eyes, adjusted to the dark, land on Remus' form, tucked beneath the covers. Briefly - unnoticed - the hammering in his chest slows and the tightness is _almost_ replaced with _warmth_.

Sirius doesn't wait long, though, to cross the room and clamber - quietly - into the bed, beneath the covers, with Remus. Remus is awake, and cold toes find their equals as he scoots close, eyes wide and dark and just a little bit mad. What is there to say? They all know, without words needing to be spoken. They know what had happened and, even without details, nothing more needed to be said on the matter. But that didn't stop the constant barrage in Sirius' chaotic mind. That didn't stop the curses and screaming and _Get out of my house, you filthy blood-traitor! Scum! Disgrace!_ The charred smell of his name being burned away - _how symbolic_ \- and the averted gaze of eyes so similar to his own. ( _Disappointment on his tongue._ ) He wasn't wanted; not anymore. He didn’t want them, either, but something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach at the thought that _they didn't want him._

They didn’t want him.

Sirius blinks, focuses on Remus before him. _Constricted_ , difficult to breathe, his fingers needing to _move_ , to do _something_. ( _They don’t want you. How could they?_ ) Eyes flit to Remus' mouth, his lips parted ever so slightly in unspoken concern. ( _Disappointment. They’re right, aren’t they?_ ) He can feel the pounding in his chest loud in his ears - silencing, deafening. ( _You fuck everything up, don’t you?_ ) His hands almost begin to shake, but then they are gripping the front of Remus' shirt, clinging to him as if the sky is a tempest and the ocean tumultuous, and he's about to drown. ( _You are nothing. Worthless._ )

Then--

His lips are pressed to Remus' and his gasping for air and clawing at the surface, just trying to _stay above the water_. A hand moves to Remus' hair, anchoring him there, keeping him within reach, never wanting to let go. If he lets go, he knows he'll slip beneath the tide. So he clings, grasping at the other boy, mouths moving together too hard and too fast and _too much_.

Distantly, beneath the desperation and utter need for survival, somehow, there is a longing that is quelled. A flame, burning too bright, too long, devouring all the oxygen he needed to _breathe_ , finally assuaged. A want he doesn't remember living without, so thoroughly consuming and constantly _aching_ ; but the _ache_ is eased. He remembers how to breathe without feeling like he is suffocating. He remembers how to think without feeling he is preordained to suffering. The longing for _this_ , for _Remus_ , fades into comfort and security, safety; _love_.

Though, only briefly.

Because it was written in the stars that he is a goddamned tragedy.

Their lips part just as quickly as they had collided, and Sirius is again left scrambling for air, straining for purchase, for footing as he _falls_ , dizzy and out of breath and _mad_. His forehead is against Remus', fingers tangled in his hair, bodies too close, and Sirius _can’t breathe_. He curls in on himself, into Remus' warmth, and his arms move to wrap around his middle. He tucks his head to Remus' chest, steely eyes squeezed shut, and tries to remember how to breathe - _in and out, in and out, in and_ \--

His body is moving, pulling away without his permission, and he is sitting and his hands are balled at his sides. He is moving, _away, away_ , leaving Remus behind in the bed without a word spoken between them. ( _Always the same. Look at you now._ ) His feet carrying him down to the living room, and Sirius curls up on the sofa, back pressed firmly into the cushioned back. ( _Disgusting. Filth._ ) He thinks, absently, that he'll fix it tomorrow, that everything will be okay. But he knows it isn't true. He had a habit of fucking things up, didn't he?

There was a reason they didn't want him, after all.


End file.
